Brian Goes to the Galapagos...The Mind Reels

In the Galapagos, ¨sleeping with the fishes¨ doesn´t mean you´re dead. Quite the contrary. Whether you´re sleeping, swimming, snorkelling or just plain dabbling with the fishes, there´s an amazing and exhilarating sense of being alive in really bright colours. It´s probably--hopefully--
thirty below in Edmonton right now (c´mon, I´m not being a weenie, but the colder the weather back home, the more one appreciates paradise in Ecuador), but here, just south of the Equator, the sun is burning hot, and forgetting the sunscreen leaves you looking like the Christmas ham in just minutes. On such a day, fifteen of us from all over the world load into two pangas, or dinghies, and head out from the boat for a morning of snorkelling.

The first thing to hit me, after rolling back off the side of the panga into the warmer-than-Sylvan-Lake water of the Pacific, is the intense privacy of the experience. My other fourteen shipmates instantly disappear, and I´m left alone in the incredibly blue water, just me and countless fish of every shape and colour. How and why the air, fish and land creatures evolved
the way they did is what the Galapagos is all about, and when a huge tortoise slowly glides by, just metres away, the privilege of being here borders almost on the religious. And while in the water, with the absolutely essential t-shirt or masses of sunscreen to ward off the second-degree sunburning on the back (wish somebody had warned me about the backs of my knees and calves...ouch!), it´s just me, the coral, the underwater cliffs, gazillions of fish, the tortoises and, of course, the ever-present sea lions.

Oh, the sea lions. They seem to be everywhere on most of the islands, either lazing on the rocks or beaches like great big lumps in the sun, or putting Esther Williams to shame with their speed and spirit of fun in the water. Like all the other animals, they show no fear of us two-legged critters, and for every one that comes over to have a sniff at my leg, dozens of others are more concerned with catching a few rays. There may be an extremely easily-interpreted snort of ¨back off, buddy¨if an over-zealous photographer gets too close to one of the babies, but for the most part, co-existence seems to be the name of the game.

On land or sea, more iguanas than I´ve ever seen, even in my worst nightmares. Red or black, with a lot of scaling-off colours in between, and ranging in size from a few inches to more than a metre, they do everything they can to maximize their body heat, and you see them sprawled alone in the sun or else in great big heaps...largest pile I saw of the red iguanas was thirteen deep. And they sure ain´t purty: they probably think the same thing about us, but I can sure
understand why the heavily-tatttooed, Harley Davidson-riding, Led Zeppelin fans are the only ones who choose them as pets. But here in the Galapagos, they´re just one part of a magnificent whole...the iguanas, I mean.

Blue-footed boobies, red-footed boobies, and all the accompanying jokes. The tortoises mating in Black Turtle Cove. The tracks in the sand from the huge females laying their eggs the night before. The first albatrosses I´ve ever seen...and none of them around my neck. A pair of Galapagos hawks. Two rare white tortoises. Tiny sharks keeping their distance...thank gawd.
The brilliant red and blue of the crabs against the black lava rocks upon which the islands have formed. The desperate attempts to preserve these unique and extraordinary species. How
can we see all this and not be changed? Our very presence on the islands perpetuates the greatest threat to the Galapagos and its inhabitants, but maybe, just maybe, we´ll oneday start getting it right.

An unforgettable week in the life of Brian...and not a note of Puccini or Verdi to be heard!